The Way of the Knife
by Headspace for Rent
Summary: Some things are better left buried, but asking a Nagai not to pick up an edged weapon is a waste of breath. Shiva Rom finds out who his real family is when the crew of the Nomad uncovers old secrets. OC driven novel. Reviews welcomed.


**Disclaimer**: I don't only anything from the Star Wars Universe. I'm just vacationing there.

**FYI: **Telepathic communication is indicated by asterisks *Like this* and if characters are conversing in a language that is not Basic, are used in place of quotes.

**Author's Notes: **This is an OC driven story that examines themes of loyalty and family and what it really means to be an outsider, among other things. It is a novel length adventure, so I hope you will be patient and come along for the ride. All comments and reviews are appreciated and encouraged.

The Orphan 

The old Duros climbed out from the rubble, brushed the debris from her jumper, and did a quick survey of her body. All parts accounted for, and no permanent damage besides the bruises on her forearms received while shielding her face from the flying shrapnel. Her earholes still rang from the percussion of the nearby explosions. She surveyed the damage to her ship, the _Ethereal_ _Nomad_, a rectangular modified Corellian YV-666 transport. Relief flooded through Suly as she noticed the _Nomad_ had taken minimal damage – some additional dents to the already pocked hull, a minor fix, and nothing to worry about. They were lucky; the ship was in the docking hanger, and had not been visible during the strafing runs. She punched the door code in and entered the dark interior of the _Nomad_. Emergency lights started to flicker into life, although Suly could have navigated the hallways blind. She checked on her descendant and apprentice Agimen; he had slept through the entire ordeal. That youngling could sleep through anything, and only woke upon Suly's prompting. Suly told him about the attack, and to stay put. She collected her medkit, gathered emergency supplies and picked up her pace, searched for the rest of her crew.

A lean and sallow human, his blond hair peppered with grey, appeared from the cargo hold with his daughter in tow. The girl looked frightened; she stayed close to her father's side, and the man wore a scowl.

"Harkane – Varkesh – are you alright?"

"We're fine, Suly. Just a little shook up. How about you and Agi?"

Harkane joined Suly as she walked towards the weapons locker. Varkesh, tall and blond like her father, trailed behind the adults with a determined look on her young face. Suly sensed another contest of wills brewing.

"We're both unharmed. I'm going out to see who needs help. Are you coming, Hark?"

"Yeah, of course. Kesh, you stay in the ship."

"Let me come with you," Varkesh protested, and continued to follow Suly and her father.

"Absolutely not."

"It's not fair." Varkesh pushed her long blond bangs out of her eyes and grabbed onto Harkane's sleeve. "I won't get in the way, and I can help Suly with triage. I know how to do the scans."

Harkane crossed his arms, and cast a glance at Suly for support.

"This isn't one of your adventure holos, Kesh. We don't know what's going on, and I don't want to worry about you too. Look, this isn't up for discussion. Stay put, for once." Harkane pointed back at the common room for emphasis as he talked. "I mean it."

Varkesh sighed her frustration, and nodded her dirty blond head without any further argument. She remained behind while Suly and her Corellian copilot armed themselves, then exited the _Nomad _and descended into chaos.

The damage from the Imperial raid seemed more focused on the market space of the shadowport city. Many stalls lay in ruin, some prefabs blasted into pieces, some collapsed into each other. Black scorch marks lined the walkways. Suly heard groans of pain, people crying out. Sentients emerged from the wreckage, dazed looks on their faces, dragging family and strangers out into the street. Bodies lay strewn about, those unfortunate enough to have lacked adequate shelter. Suly stopped to give aid as much as her old body would allow her. The supplies in her possession would not be enough; she would need to synthesize more. Suly applied compresses, bandaged wounds, dispensed medications, and used her precious medpaks on the seriously wounded. This had been a brutal and unexpected attack.

Suly found Harkane Koll helping other men carry the dead bodies and arrange them in rows so friends or relatives could claim them later, if there were any. Search and rescue brought the live people to Suly and the other medics for assessment and treatment. Others sorted through the rubble for survivors. The searchers carried arms in case of scavengers, a precaution that no one hoped was necessary.

"Twenty," the Corellian mumbled, as he placed yet another body among the growing collection of corpses.

"Hark, that's just morbid."

"Can't help who I am, Suly." His bravado and smile could have fooled anyone except Suly – she knew better. The carnage affected him just as much. "Why now? Doesn't the Empire have anything better to do than snipe at us?"

"I don't think it's personal, Hark. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hand me that scanner."

Suly lost count of the number she gave aid to. Time blurred into flashes of flesh and bone, living and dead.

"Here's the last one, Suly – for now, at any rate. I think she's dead, but that's your call." Harkane Koll had a talent for understatement.

Harkane deposited a torn body at Suly's station, a tall female with skin so white that it seemed to glow, and long blue-black hair pulled back into an intricate series of braids. Suly did not recognize the race; that was unusual, because she had travelled from one end of the galaxy to the other. Half of the woman's face was missing, scorched off by a blast, and a gaping hole yawned in the center of her torso. At least there was no blood – the blasters cauterized as they killed. She was beautiful in an ethereal way, even in death. Suly knew she was deceased, but ran the scanner over her anyway. No signs of life. Suly sighed.

"Put her with the others, Hark."

There was still much more to do; collapsed structures to be searched, others in need of aid. Suly synthesized more supplies and headed out into the field in spite of Harkane's objections that she should rest. More people might be injured, in need of assistance, and Suly could not just sit back while others worked. She never could.

She progressed further into the ruined marketplace, looking, listening, calling out on occasion. Her firearm remained in its holster at her side. Fires burned fitful, consuming the wreckage. Suly heard the sounds of the rubble shifting and sliding, and people's voices raised in confusion.

"Hello, does anyone need assistance? I'm a medic."

Suly stopped. Something had caught her attention: something or someone knocking, pounding on a metallic surface. Suly called out again, followed the sound to one of the structures the search parties had not cleared yet. The hammering was louder, Suly could hear a muffled cry.

"Hark, come here. Someone's trapped!" Suly yelled for the Corellian as she tossed aside the shrapnel. She couldn't move the larger pieces of sheetwall and ferrocarbon without aid. She heard a thin wail, a wordless call for help. With Harkane and the assistance of two other men, they moved the piling and ferroconcrete. Underneath a bent support, a small, pale child lay curled in an awkward position. One of his legs was pinned and Suly could see a lot of blood.

"Hold on, little one. We'll help you." Suly reached out, hoped to reassure the youngling. A small, white hand grasped hers. "Hurry, Hark, he's bleeding out."

As Harkane and the others moved the debris, Suly knelt down to do triage. The boy was painfully skinny with a mane of thick black hair and alabaster skin. Deep lacerations covered his face and arms, and a nasty scalp wound spat dark red blood. His forehead felt cold to the touch, and Suly knew he was in shock. Suly kept up a stream of nonsense syllables, comforting noises to reassure the child while she worked. The Duros healer applied a tourniquet on the right thigh to halt the bleeding and give her time to fix the femoral artery, then she sealed the minor wounds. Suly administered a sedative to calm him while Harkane and the others removed the beams pinning the boy in place. It took a half an hour to free him.

Harkane lifted the small body in his arms and carried the child back to the temporary treatment area for Suly to address any remaining injuries. The boy's right femur was broken, but it was a clean break. She dressed the head wound by gluing the scalp shut. Suly ran a hand over the youngling's dirt streaked forehead in a gesture of comfort. During the entire procedure, the child had not cried out or made a sound, even though his eyes were wide with fright and pain.

"It's over now, you're safe."

The boy mumbled something plaintive, and Suly knew he was calling for his mother although his language was unknown to her. Suly glanced over at the pale corpse lying crumpled, and her heart broke. How do you tell a child that his mother is dead? On impulse, she gathered the boy in her arms. At first he stiffened, then folded into the embrace. He cried then, a thin whimper, and Suly could only comfort him.

Minutes stretched into hours while Suly continued to treat other injured stragglers and sent them on their way. The pale youngling remained curled up on one of the makeshift pallets, asleep and unnoticed. Suly forgot about him while she worked, until Harkane came by the collect her.

"Come on, Suly. There isn't anything more we can do. We should pack up and get the kriff out of here before another wave comes."

Suly looked over towards the cots. No one had claimed the little white-skinned boy. Her brood had long since grown and left, but this lost waif pulled at her heart. The boy was now an orphan and on his own, susceptible to the scum who liked to prey on the weak. He would become easy pickings for the slavers who roamed the sector, prey due to his youth and unusual appearance. Suly could not – would not – let that happen to another sentient, especially an innocent. Harkane glanced over, raised an eyebrow, wordless communication between the two of them…time to go. When she knelt next to the child, he stirred, tried to sit up. Suly restrained him with a gentle hand.

"Don't worry, youngling. We'll take care of you. Relax. " Suly did not think he understood what she said, but it was worth a try.

"Oh no – We're not running a daycare center, Suly," Harkane protested.

"Hark, show some restraint. He is hurt and alone. Besides, last time I checked, the _Nomad_ is my ship. The boy stays. Please carry him for me."

On board the _Nomad_, Suly cleared off her bunk and wrapped the child in a blanket. She gave him another injection to put him back to sleep, and then went back out to help Harkane and the others deal with the dead. She would figure out how to tell the boy about his mother later, best to let him recover his strength before giving him the bad news.

Varkesh filled her plate with food cubes before Agimen could hog more than his fair share, returned to the common room, and filled a glass at the dispenser. To her surprise, the stocky Duros was already there, sitting on one of the narrow stools and shoving several food cubes in his mouth at the same time.

"What's the rush?" Varkesh asked.

"I don't want _him_ to take my seat."

That strange pale boy limped into the common area, the first time he had been on his feet since his rescue, only a matter of a few days. Neither Suly nor Harkane had expected the little foundling to recover his strength so soon.

He selected a corner chair, and curled into it. He did not make eye contact with either Agimen or Varkesh. He made no move towards the dispenser or Agimen's coveted seat, and almost seemed unaware that the other two children were in the room with him.

"Hey," Varkesh ventured, "Do you speak Basic?"

"Yes." He still did not look up, just toyed with the serrated dagger Suly had found with him in the rubble. He spun the wicked blade in complex patterns, a hypnotic weave that caught the light in glints.

Varkesh squinted at him, the expression that she adopted when she was confused or trying to puzzle something out. She waited for him to say more, but he did not offer any clarification. Agimen kept pretending the other boy did not exist, so it was up to her to keep the conversation flowing.

"Ummm…so do you have a name, or what?"

The orphan looked up, his expression unreadable. He stared Varkesh straight in the eyes and did not blink.

"Shiva Rom tal'Kett." He spoke Basic with a thick accent, the vowels rounded and the consonants clipped.

"What, all of that? Can I just call you Rom?"

The pale boy did not respond to Varkesh's query at first. When he did speak, it was in a stiff and formal tone.

"My name is _Shiva_ Rom. You don't have the right to call me anything else."

He continued to stare Varkesh down. It was _very_ disconcerting, and almost aggressive. Varkesh decided to ignore the challenge.

"Fine, Shiva Rom. Where are you from? I've never seen anyone who looks like you. Hey, are you hungry? I think there's some food left after Agi got to it." Agimen glared at her; she made a face back. "What? We have to live together, so we may as well be on a first name basis. I'm Varkesh. Harkane, the tall guy, he's my father. This is Agimen, he's Suly's great, great…what was it again, Agi? "

"Great granddam. And you can suck an exhaust pipe if you think you can barge in here, eat our food, and take my stuff, mister Siva Rom… whatever."

"Great first impression, Agi."

"I don't care, why did Suly take him in? We were fine the way we were. Hey…is that a knife you've got? " Agimen leapt out of his chair, forgetting that he was mad at the newcomer, and went to grab the blade, knocking Varkesh's dinner over in the process.

"Let me see it." Agimen was taller and bulkier than the other boy, and that usually served to intimidate other younglings. Not Rom, Varkesh noted, and smiled. Rom stood up in spite of his injury and faced the large Duros, ready to fight. He grasped the dagger in his right hand, held it in a defensive position.

"No! It is mine and you can't touch it. My mother gave it to me."

"This is my granddam's ship – you're just a stowaway! Give that to me!" Agimen grabbed for the smaller boy's wrist. Rom moved quick in response, Varkesh almost could not follow; he dodged Agimen's grasp, ducked inside of the larger Duros' reach, and slammed the butt of the hilt against Agimen's green forehead. The strike was intended to humiliate more than injure. Rom stepped out of reach and replaced the knife in its holder. Agimen stood still, blinked in disbelief, then roared and jumped at Rom, fists flying. He and Rom went down, kicking and punching, Agimen cursing, Rom silent and fast.

"Hey, break it up!" Harkane bellowed. The Corellian rushed in, grabbed both Agimen and Rom by the scruffs of their necks and yanked them apart. "That's enough."

"He started it, Hark. He hit me. He thinks he owns the place."

Harkane assessed the boys. Rom had a split lip and Agimen a spreading bruise on his brow. Agimen tried to take a swipe at Rom again, but Harkane had a tight hold on the Duros' jumpsuit. "There will be no fighting on this ship, either of you. Do you understand? And I know perfectly well who started it. Come on, we're going to talk to your granddam about this." He pointed at Rom. "And, you, boy, stay put. I'll be back for you later." Harkane dragged Agimen out of the room by his collar. Rom did not move or speak, at first. He seemed unperturbed by the incident; he simply mumbled something in that language and returned to his seat. Varkesh could have sworn he wore a smirk.

"Where did you learn to do that, Rom? That was amazing." Varkesh was glad someone else could give Agimen a hard time, besides her.

"It's only First Forms. And my name is Shiva Rom."

The cryptic answer confused Varkesh. "Well, it's about time somebody stood up to Agi. He can be a bully." She held out a hand to Rom. "Come on, let's go eat something. I'm starving, I bet you are too. Let me help you, gimpy."

Rom hesitated, then took the offered aid, and limped off to the kitchenette with Varkesh, in spite of Harkane's orders. From that moment forward, they were friends.

Varkesh filled up a plate for Rom, and then served herself. Agimen had not returned from his scolding, and Varkesh knew from experience that she would not see him until the next day. She also knew that Harkane's threat towards Rom was an empty one. Her father talked big but had a soft spot for people's pain. Not only had Rom been close to dying, but also he had lost his mother. Suly had told Varkesh; there were no secrets on the _Nomad_. Varkesh felt a connection to Rom, because she had lost her momma when she was younger, too. Maybe Rom would want to have someone to talk to about it with, or perhaps some company, that was what Varkesh had wanted after the funeral.

Rom sat on a stool with his legs pulled up to his thin chest, and he picked at the food cubes. His unruly black hair and white skin gave him the appearance of a gaunt specter. He looked so forlorn that Varkesh wanted to hug him. However, Rom seemed to rebuff all attempts at contact. Varkesh was not sure if he was just shy, or maybe it was part of his upbringing. Rom was a mystery, and Varkesh _loved_ mysteries. She decided to wade back into the conversation, get him to open up.

"You speak Basic well. How old are you?"

He gave her another defiant stare, an expression that would become familiar over the years. Varkesh noticed that his eyes were a deep indigo blue, the only touch of color on his thin body. Varkesh was intuitive, as her mother had been, and she knew then that Rom was determining whether to trust her or not. She sensed terrible sadness and loneliness in the little boy, wide as the void of space. "It's alright, you don't have to answer. I'll let you eat in peace."

Varkesh stood up, made a big show of clearing her plate, and waited to see if Rom would respond, or just continue ignoring her.

"I'm seven." Rom replied quick, and Varkesh could sense that he didn't want to be alone, didn't want to be abandoned again.

_Success_. " I'm almost twelve. My father and I, we're from Corellia, but we travel a lot. Are your family spacers, too?"

"What is a spacer?"

"You know, people who make their living doing shipping runs, that sort of thing."

"Um…no. My mother says we are here on a special mission in Skyriver. We are Nagai." Rom seemed proud when he said that. The word meant nothing to Varkesh.

"Nagai? Never heard of it. So, where are you from?"

"I can't tell you." Rom crossed his arms, got that stubborn look Varkesh would learn to dread.

"You can tell _me_, Rom. It'll be our secret, I promise." Varkesh gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"I _said_, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because… I don't know where home is…" Rom trailed off and finished eating in silence. Varkesh worried that she had overstepped some boundary and caused him to shut down.

Rom disappeared after they ate. Varkesh hoped he was off exploring, maybe having an adventure (what she would have done at his age), just doing something besides moping around. Varkesh was surprised to find Rom off in the hold running in circles. She walked in, sat on one of the crates, and watched the white skinned boy hobble around on his newly healed leg.

"You should rest your leg, Rom - sorry - I meant Shiva Rom. Suly says it takes a few days to set right, and you don't want to hurt it again."

"I'm not supposed to rest." Rom's accented voice came out in huffs as he jogged past her once again, then said something in his language that Varkesh didn't understand, most likely a proverb of some kind: Resting makes you lazy. Lazy people are dead people.

"Ooookay." Varkesh rolled her eyes. She watched him run laps around the perimeter, still limping. It had to hurt, had only been a few days since his liberation from the wreckage. Rom did not complain, did not even wince, until he was clearly in such agony that he was forced to stop and sit, his face emotionless and his thin chest heaving. There was something wrong with this boy.

"So, what do you do for fun where you come from?" Varkesh's inquiry was met with silence. She did not know if it was a translation problem, or if Rom was just that dense. Varkesh opted for the former, and explained. "You know, what you do on your downtime. I like to watch adventure holos, or play sabbac if Hark lets me. Here, I've got a deck. Let's try a game. It'll be fun. Shove over."

Varkesh produced an old sabbac deck from her pocket, so old that the cards were on stock and could not be changed. She joined Rom on his perch, bumped him over so that she could deal out. She lay out a spread, dealt a hand for Rom and one for herself, then started to explain the ground rules. He did not pick up his cards.

"Is this a lesson?"

"Umm…This isn't supposed to teach you stuff, it's just to have a good time."

Rom did not blink when he gave her that blue stare again. Varkesh intuited a sad realization: that the pale orphan didn't understand the basic concept of fun, it was foreign to him. Shiva Rom did not know how to play – at all. _How awful. What kind of people make their children grow up so young?_

Varkesh felt a rush of sadness and compassion. No one should be _that_ serious. She had grown up without siblings and playmates, and Agi did not count. She always wanted a brother or sister to share her secrets with, and to take care of. So, Varkesh decided that she would adopt pale Rom, and show him what play meant, what fun meant. It would be the greatest adventure of her life.


End file.
